Author: cometsgirl

Carrie Newcomer sings

“You can do this hard thing
You can do this hard thing
It’s not easy I know
But I believe that it’s so
You can do this hard thing.”

I have what could be seen as a hard thing, to do today. After I’m picked up at the Houston airport, we’ll drive down to the periphery of the Texas Medical Center to Houston Hospice. These are old stomping grounds for me.

I studied at the UT School of Public Health, and then went on to have a career in the medical research field. My studies and my office were in the center of the Center.

A few years into my work I felt called to become a hospice volunteer. And so I went through the required training and for the next number of years I was present with those making their final earthly journey. I did this work in this place where I am going today.

I wrote about my faith journey recently. One thing I did not mention was the role music played in seeking and finding faith. Specifically Christian music. It seems odd to think about how far I had removed myself from God, while holding on to God’s songs.

There was an organist at the church where my family worshipped, and where years later I returned and kick-started my faith. Tony. Precious Tony, who had a wondrous ability to play the organ, a love of the music, and the sparkle when he smiled and led the choir and the congregation in praising God in song.

All this to say, he was a part of my faith journey. For many years I would run into Tony at local concerts. We always enjoyed chatting and catching up.

I learned last night that he has been admitted to hospice.

Beth knows him well. She asked if I wanted to go visit Tony. Of course I do. Of course I want to do this hard thing. I suspect, tho, that in the midst of this hard thing there will be grace and joy and reunion — and it willl not be so hard after all.

From the service of Compline, Book of Common Prayer:

“Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or
weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who
sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless 
the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the 
joyous; and all for your love’s sake.” Amen.

So I had a recent wrestling match with forces of health and darkness. As someone who is always in motion, suddenly I was not in motion.  Maybe not suddenly, but quick enough. At the end of a recent short, but very active trip, I fell into a heap.  Suffice it to say, that heap lingered for a couple of weeks, causing me not only to miss planned travel to Arizona, but to miss travel in the most minute sense– up and down the stairs, across the room, down the hall. It was like trudging through banks of snow.

Wow. As a friend asked me this morning, do you think this happened because you are not one to slow down, but perhaps should learn to do so, and this was a reminder, a nudge?  I don’t know.

What I do know is that it was a trial and a test of the realities of my time of life in which I find myself. Oldering. I had a couple of weeks of severe aches and pains, and debilitating tiredness.  Two trips to see my doctor provided no answers. The truth is I very much did not like what I began to imagine could be a new normal for me.

I trudged and trudged, then trudged some more.  In body, mind and spirit.

There’s good news this day.  I’ve pretty much bounced back and am on schedule to take my chair in the air in about fourteen hours.  Whoo hoo!

My best friend and I have had a decades-long tradition of sharing Advent time.  For years we went to northern New Mexico.  That changed a few years ago, and now we travel in January for Epiphany time in northern New Mexico.

Advent time has been moved to Houston.  I know, I know. Houston in December is not exactly an Advent winter season.  Still, it seems to work.

If you’ve followed my blog for a time, you may recall that Frosty the Snowman has played an important part in our Advent time in Houston. Frosty ended up bringing healing to the very real situation of my friend’s experiences (and mine also) with floods and relocations for the past two and a half years. Such a surprise it has been to have some of Advent focused on Frosty.

I mentioned in my last blog that I receive a daily AdventWord meditation from the Virginia Theological Seminary. Two days ago the word was rough.  In the Gospel of Luke we hear John the Baptizer quoting Isaiah, who proclaims that the “rough ways will be made smooth” in preparation for the coming of God. Our tasks on the way to smoothness are to examine our own harsh words, sharp elbows and other impediments to both human and divine relationships….

….so that we can be made smooth, the word for yesterday. “To make the way smooth for each of us to experience the liberating life of God, we must remove all the obstacles we have constructed that blocks the path of grace”.

I clearly was in the “rough”.  There could be further rough ahead, but I now catch glimpses of the smooth up ahead, and for that I give thanks!

Traveling mercies.

A week ago as I was thinking about upcoming travel, I was reminded of Mary Chapin Carpenter’s song, “What Does is Mean to Travel”. Her lyrics include these lines:

For the first time that I can remember, I had to cancel a planned trip. Unknown “oldering” symptoms got in my way.  I know it was the right thing to do, but what regret I have.

This morning, while letting a super-hot shower-spray cover my sorenesses, I was reminded of Helen Reddy’s song, “I am Woman”.

The part of the song I kept replaying in my head was,

If I have to, I can do anything
I am strong
(Strong)
I am invincible
(Invincible)
I am womam.

That song came out in 1971, and it was an anthem for multitudes of women, including myself. While I’ve not ever felt totally invincible, I’ve felt a certain level of being invincible.  Thinking about travel in particular, my friends and family have marveled at how I’m always on the go.  I’ve marveled as well. It may be that I needed to remain on the go so I didn’t miss out on my travel expectations.  More likely it is because I am resistive to slowing down, certainly to stopping.

So here I am stopped.  It’s definitely not a good look for me.  But what I’m trying to do in these moments of aches and pains, is to believe I’ve needed to stop to rest.  That this rest has been mandated for my own good.  So in the long run I can take my suitcase in hand and depart.  And arrive.

I am receiving a daily AdventWord meditation during Advent from the Virginia Theological Seminary. Twenty-four emails during the period of Advent, each offering a word to consider for meditative practice during this time of slowing down, of watching and waiting.

The first word in this series is JOURNEY. Here are the sentences accompanying the word:

Pause and imagine a world without Google maps–a world where journeys carry both risk and opportunity. The route is difficult to determine; wrong turns are inevitable. Yet every turn of such a journey opens new horizons and strangers met along the way may become friends. Pause the journey of life. Pause and remember that God is our companion on this journey–present in the moments of pain and of joy. 

Indeed.

Traveling mercies.

In a recent lectionary study class, our readings were for Advent I, the first Sunday in Advent. The class was small this day, so each of us had an opportunity to read some of the passages aloud. After the reading, the discussion began with some thoughts about this quiet time of Advent in the midst of Christmas season din – the noise that surrounds us.

The discussion veered off about exclamation points people often use when texting. One doesn’t seem to be enough anymore. Several exclamation points are better heard. Frankly, even the one exclamation is often unnecessary. And then more conversation about the ALL CAPS texts and e-mails.

I volunteered that I had just that morning received a message followed by a burst of confetti.

Out rector suggested we might view Advent as a confetti-free zone.

That got my attention. Now I’m considering how to do this.

I returned last night from a quick two-day travel lark. My best friend and I spent about 24 hours in Athens, GA. After picking her up at Hartsfield-Jackson, we enjoyed an amazing lunch at Ford Fry’s (a restauranteur of Atlanta and Houston fame) El Felix. From there it was straight to 1000 Faces coffee roasters in Athens. A real favorite.

With the first sip, things slowed down. Even became leisurely. Gentle enjoyment of a place where opportunities to slow down abound.

We drove over to R. Wood pottery studio. I’ve long collected Rebecca’s ceramic pieces.

Wandering in the midst of the many finished dinnerware and one-of-a-kind pieces in the studio, was like being in a garden. I had a lovely chat with Rebecca about how her plates set out for a recent dinner gathering at my home had drawn us all to the table for a shared meal.

We closed out this day with a movie and a small meal. Then good rest. Our lives have been filled to the brim, even overflowing at times with tasks and activities. This short travel lark began to set the stage for going without confetti for awhile.

In the morning we walked to 1000 Faces for breakfast. Time was indeed slowing. The trees along the walk are in the midst of shedding their leaf confetti.

I picked up a copy of The Flagpole as I finished my coffee. This caught my eye:

It was just after nine. “Should we go? Can we make it? Do we want to try? Yes!”

Sometimes you need to hurry to get to a place of mindfulness. A “high-speed” walk back to the hotel, a dash to the room to get the car keys, and a short drive to the museum … we arrived in time to queue up, grab a stool, and then the mindfulness hour began.

It was SO worth the hurry-up. Truthfully, however, I got distracted before it was over. I veered out of the room during a gazing exercise where I encountered this tree. Made up of separate images, manipulated in the dark room, it drew me in to gaze, consider, and be still.

Early afternoon we drove to Augusta so I could drop Beth off at the Order of Saint Helena convent, where she would be on a two-day silent retreat.

I imagine this is a really good way to go confetti-free. Instead for me, it was a 5-hour slog drive home.

Orchards of peach trees have gone confetti-free.

A detour on my drive added a couple of hours to the trip. I needed to pick up my custom-made Christmas tree.

Now this tree is a perfect example of confetti-free.

Advent I is tomorrow. As lector, I will read aloud the lessons which brought about the lectionary conversation about shouting. There’s a sense of shouting about upheaval in Luke’s Gospel. There’s mention of the natural world roaring and of the calamities that arose. We are reminded of the calamities of our own day. While we could be overwhlelmed, Jesus tells us to see these events with different eyes. Instead of being depressed or filled with inertia, Christians can see challenges.

John Gardner echoes the theme of treasure hidden in disaster: “We are all continually faced with a series of great opportunities, brilliantly disguised as insoluble problems.”

It’s time to enter the confetti-free zone.

It’s hard to put into words what a day Leaving Sunday was like.

It was such an emotional day. Highs and extreme highs. Joy and sorrow mixed together.

The day began with breakfast. Pancakes were baked by the men of the parish, and parishioners brought a huge variety of food-laden plates and platters.

One-hundred-fifty people attended breakfast. We were nicely stuffed in seating and sustenance.

Rev Beth and Rev Alan received “love” pancakes. Alan was a curate and then an assistant rector at St. Mary’s. He’s a favorite of mine. Now serving the Episcopal Diocese of South Carolina, he returned for this day.

A few gifts were presented. Each reflected a shared experience moment between parishioners and their priest, that will be remembered well beyond this time of separation.

Then we all gathered for the Leaving Service. It felt like we were all transported to a different plane. A place filled with uncommon prayer and praise. A place where these gathered souls held each other in their sorrow, in their shared love, and in their shared life now coming to a close.

A welcome to all.

Gifts that would be distributed during the service to parish ministries as a sign these would all continue.

Following the service, the people lined up for hugs, blessings, and farewells.

For myself, I was sought out by SO many with whom I have loved and been loved. We all pray our paths may cross again.

This morning brings my departure for home. It’s a beautiful day to fly.

Traveling mercies.

Service for the Ending of a Pastoral Relationship and Leave-taking from a Congregation, as the rector and parish separate.

Here’s a taste of this very moving and meaningful service:

Just before the Peace, the Priest addresses the Vestry and the congregation with these or similar words-

On the day of January 6, 1998, I was installed as Rector of St. Mary’s Episcopal Church. I have, with God’s help and to the best of my abilities, exercised this trust, accepting its privileges and responsibilities.

After prayer and careful consideration, it now seems to me that I should leave this charge, and I publicly state that my tenure as rector of St. Mary’s Episcopal Church ends this day.

The Senior Warden of the Vestry asks,
Do you, the people of St. Mary’s recognize and accept the conclusion of this pastoral relationship?

People, We do.

Then the Priest may express thanksgiving for the time of the tenure, with its joys and sorrows, and states hopes for the future of the congregation.

The Priest may present to the Warden(s) a letter of resignation, the keys of the parish, the parish altar service book, the parish register, or other symbols fitting to the occasion.

The Priest may also express her thanks to the representatives of parish organizations and offices, and indicate that those organizations will continue to function.

The departing Priest and the congregation then say together the following prayer,

O God, you have bound us together for a time as priest and people to work for the advancement of your kingdom in this place: We give you humble and hearty thanks for the ministry which we have shared in these years now past.

We thank you for your patience with us despite our blindness and slowness of heart. We thank you for your forgiveness and mercy in the face of our many failures.

Especially we thank you for your never-failing presence with us through these years, and for the deeper knowledge of you and of each other which we have attained.

We thank you for those who have been joined to this part of Christ’s family through baptism. We thank you for opening our hearts and minds again and again to your Word, and for feeding us abundantly with the Sacrament of the Body and Blood of your Son.

Now, we pray, be with those who leave and with us who stay; and grant that all of us, by drawing ever nearer to you, may always be close to each other in the communion of your saints. All this we ask for the sake of Jesus Christ, your Son, our Lord. Amen.

I will miss this place and these people.

As you know, I’m in Houston for my best friend’s last Sunday service at the church where she had served for twenty-one years. Having served in a place for as long as she has, leave-taking involves tasks and time.

The service of Holy Eucharist with special liturgy for leaving is today. The past three days have been filled with tasks.

Leaving is nigh, but 1st….

office packing-up…

a wedding rehearsal…

a food truck dinner with Eucharist…

another day of packing…

and prepping a turkey for and early Thanksgiving meal tomorrow…

and then the wedding…

followed by a another Tex-mex feast with family members here for the day ahead…

It’s been quite a busy few days, with memories flowing forth as old photographs are discovered, and as numerous items recall past times of adventures. It’s been a time of great reflection of lives lived and shared for so many years.

For the parish the shared life with their rector comes to a close today. My shared life with this parish comes to a close as well. I’m soon to be in the mix of a very special family of Christ as we share these moments of taking-leave.

Shortly I will post what we can expect at today’s service.

A 3-hour drive drive down from the mountains this morning was easier than usual.

Still, there was some congestion and one rather severe looking multi-car accident. Traffic is always slowed in these situations, giving one time to be a voyeur. And time to consider how close one came to being a player in this event.

“Well, I’m glad I stopped at Starbucks back in Oakwood.”

I know. It’s not Oakwood, but it IS a Starbucks image from recent travel.

Later as I navigate through town, a timely reminder as I dart in and out of traffic, realizing at the last moment I need to exit now! A wave of thanks to the car in my rear mirror.

As Hartsfield-Jackson nears, choreography steps in and directs moves that will eventually spin you to your gate.

It’s a bustling place! There’s little time to do more than move from kiosk to kiosk.

This day I found an invitation to stop and be still for a period. Walking through the terminal to get to the streamlined security lanes, I heard sweet voices. I detoured to the atrium area to find the sound.

There they were. Children. Singing a version of Silent Night I’d not heard. My preference is for no Christmas music until the latter days of Advent. I made an exception this day as I stood listening, as the sweet sound stilled me, gave me pause.

A combination train ride and walk brought me out to the international terminal where I have access to a lounge. As the escalator brought me up a level, more beautiful sounds.

I detoured once again to find the source of these beautiful melodies. There…an acoustic guitar player in the midst of airport busyness.

I think it’s important to listen, and watch too, for these unexpected gifts of soul-stilling. Gentle reminders to be still. And know.

I’m headed to Houston, Texas, today.  My best friend is leaving the church where she has served as Rector for twenty-one years.  She’s accepted a new call as a member of the diocesan staff of the Episcopal Diocese of Texas.

Twenty-one years!  That a very long time for a parish and its rector to be in relationship.

I was present when she was installed as rector of St. Mary’s Episcopal Church, Cypress, Texas.  I shall be there for her last Sunday as Rector.

In the Episcopal Church’s Book of Occasional Services, there is liturgy for the departure of a rector. It’s a Service for the Ending of a Pastoral Relationship and Leave-taking from a Congregation. I have been to one “leaving service” and I found it to be one of the most meaningful and meaning-filled liturgies I’ve ever experienced. This liturgy soothes the separation of the rector and parish, while recognizing the life they have shared.

This parish has been my parish-away-from home parish. It became a parish to me after I moved from Houston, as I have returned often over the past fifteen years. I have found nourishment and solace in this place. I’ve also found joy and welcome. In a sense I am leave-taking from this place, just my best friend is doing.

Before we get to the leave-taking service itself, I understand we’ll be pretty busy. There is her office to pack up. There is a wedding rehearsal and wedding ceremony to attend as she will serve as the co-officiant.

And of course, there has to be time for a number of Tex-Mex meals!

Traveling mercies.

So…. I received a rather august honor this morning. As I mentioned in the previous blog, I was a delegate, along with 500 others, to the Episcopal Diocese of Atlanta’s Annual Council, representing my Saint James parish.

There was the business of the church to tend to, along with stirring stories and videos about the ministries led by Episcopalians in this diocese of upper and middle Georgia.

It was a great gathering of the faithful and the faith-filled, with the gift of the presence of Presiding Bishop Michael Curry. He is amazing. His sermon at Friday’s Eucharist was filled with Bishop Curry’s “moves”, exhortations, laughter, prayer and praise.

I reunited with many whom I have known and served with for the fifteen years I have been in this diocese.  My hours were filled with glorious joys, spiritual wonder, and inspiring possibilities for how to create innovative programs to engage parishioners in the work of the church.

My hours were also filled with encounters that suggested ways in which I might be called to serve that could transform lives, including my own. I returned home with renewed energy and enthusiasm as an member of “the Episcopal Branch of The Jesus Movement”.

And about that honor…each of the eleven convocations of the diocese nominated a person who embodies the purpose statement of the diocese of Atlanta: We challenge ourselves and the world to love like Jesus as we worship joyfully, serve compassionately and grow spiritually.

I was a recipient of the Bishop’s Cross. It was both a high and humbling experience.

It will be a reminder that there is much opportinity for and expectation of service ahead for me.